


Morning Hijinks

by AndromedaPrime



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: M/M, Morning Sex, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 08:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12104772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndromedaPrime/pseuds/AndromedaPrime
Summary: Wheeljack's always been easier to wake up than Ultra Magnus.





	Morning Hijinks

**Author's Note:**

> *continues to sail this lonely little kayak in this lonely, vast ocean*
> 
> I will always be a sucker for Wheeljack and Ultra Magnus shenanigans, but what else is new? :P

The most common misconception of their relationship, of all things, was that Wheeljack was the one to sleep in late and Magnus was the one that would wake up early without a fuss.

It was a half-truth - Wheeljack could sleep in late if he really wanted, if he was that amount of over-exerted, but he’d been so used to booting up and starting his cycles early that it had become second-nature.

Magnus, on the other servo, was the one who had a multitude of alarms telling him to wake up. By the time the last one went off, he was at the very least functional, but he was also very quick to snap to attention and make it seem as if he’d been awake for the past couple of cycles. Truly, Wheeljack envied that ability.

Wheeljack opened his optics to the light of Earth’s sun streaming through the small window just above the berth. He stretched his arms out and then turned his helm to the side, smiling at the sight of the deep-in-recharge mech and how the light illuminated his silver faceplates.

He stayed there, staring at the other mech for a while, optics taking in the sight of and memorizing each little detail about Magnus’s peacefully recharging face. After that was done, he trailed his gaze down over Magnus’s broad chassis that hid his strong and beautifully luminous spark, the glowing biolights that accentuated his abdominal plating, blue sturdy hips, and his long, gorgeous legs.

Wheeljack really wanted to feel those legs wrap around his waist again, just as they had last night cycle as he thrust in and out of the taller mech’s needy and wet valve. The thought of it sent a little tingle through his systems again as he looked a little closer at the inside of Magnus’s thighs and legs, noting the scratches that had been left behind from their activities. He knew that if he looked at his own frame he’d see the same thing.

Almost as if he’d sensed the gaze on him, Magnus’s systems slowly booted up and those gorgeous blue optics that always made Wheeljack’s intakes hitch a small bit opened up and stared at him for a moment before Magnus made a tired noise. “What hour is it?”

“Got a cycle before we gotta head out for patrol,” Wheeljack said, gently bumping his helm against Magnus’s. “You can recharge a bit longer.”

Magnus made a small noise of protest as he shook his helm, mumbling something about needing to awaken completely and go through his normal morning routine. The Wrecker Commander was always adorable like this, just waking up and tiredly trying to speak and make himself heard and understood. Wheeljack pressed his lipplates against the bigger mech’s, gently cradling Magnus’s helm in his servos.

The tired talk stopped, and Ultra made a contented noise as he near-melted into Wheeljack’s tender kiss and touch. Who would have thought, eons ago, that this could ever be a possibility? Both of them able to be in the same room, much less the same berth, and not be at each other’s vocalizers.

Wheeljack hummed quietly, smiling against Magnus’s lipplates as he stroked his digits along the larger mech’s chassis. He pulled away from the kiss and his smile turned salacious. “Can think of a thing we can do while waitin’ for you to fully wake.”

He saw the questioning look cross the other mech’s faceplates as he moved his servos in a downward motion. “Wheeljack, what are you - ah,” Magnus’s inquiry turned into a pleased sound as the white-armored Wrecker stroked his deft digits along the seams of his warming interface panel and settled between his thighs, laying down so their chassis plates touched and Wheeljack could continue kissing those wonderful, enticing lips.

“Is this what you wanted me up for? These,” he returned the kiss, “these morning hijinks of yours?”

Wheeljack laughed against Magnus’s lips and adjusted himself between the larger mech’s legs. “Not just that, Mags. Might be hard ta believe but I actually do love seein’ you up an’ around.”

The blue interface panel shifted and then retracted under Wheeljack’s touches, and Magnus said, “At this rate, I will not be able to get up for a while.” He arched his hips slightly into Wheeljack’s hand, an invitation. 

Wheeljack’s digits slipped into the wet, waiting valve, the smaller mech smirking at the delectable noises he could wring out of Magnus, as if the Autobot Commander were an instrument waiting to be played. He thumbed the glowing anterior node located at the apex of the thick, plump valve lips, savoring the gasp and buck of hips into his servo.

“Please,” Magnus whispered, optics bright, vents harsh and needy. “Need more, please.”

The white-armored Wrecker was more than happy to oblige, gifting his mate with a rough thrust of his digits into the very wet port, stroking along the charged nodes and rubbing his palm against the anterior node.

“Ah!” Magnus’s helm fell back onto the cushions and he arched his hips into Wheeljack’s touch, and Wheeljack thought that he could fall in love with the sleepy yet desperate expression on the normally stoic mech’s faceplates. Pit, everything that Magnus did was enough to make him fall in love all over again.

Part of him wondered if the tall, statuesque mech felt the same way - if Magnus ever found himself falling in love all over again with anything he did.

Wheeljack swiped his thumb over the closest fold and lunged forward to kiss the other mech’s neck, letting his own spike panel retract but paying it no mind. Magnus was the one who needed it.

“Right there, please,” Ultra Magnus moaned, leaning his helm back to expose more of his neck cables as Wheeljack nibbled at them. His vents hitched. “Primus, Wheeljack, I love you.”

“Love ya right back, Mags,” Wheeljack replied, lips pressed against Magnus’s neck as he worked his way up again to his faceplates. “Don’t know how I got so lucky with you.”

Even with four digits shoved up his valve and his frame half-bent, Magnus gave a brief laugh. “I wouldn’t have imagined this, even a stellar cycle ago.”

Designations of mechs and femmes long gone that he’d known, that had known how much he initially loathed the new commander, coursed through his processor. Wheeljack pulled away from the kiss again and simply pressed their forehelms together. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered. 

Magnus’s optics gave a brief flare of arousal, and Wheeljack could have sworn that more lubricant gushed forward, around his digits. The blue-armored mech groaned and panted harshly, his vents working to keep a steady temperature. 

“If it is anything like what you do to me,” Ultra said hoarsely, “then I have a faint idea.”

Wheeljack lightly butted his helm against the other bot’s and laughed as he stroked his digit along the sensors lining Ultra’s valve, watching with rapt attention at the little, minute changes in Ultra’s faceplates as he stimulated them. How the light that fell across the silver plates shifted with each movement he made with his digits, playing Ultra as if he were an instrument, made solely for his audio receptors.

“Can’t wait ‘til we can get back to Cybertron some cycle,” Wheeljack said in a low voice, husky with his own arousal, “we can settle down an’ spend our cycles fraggin’ each other’s processors out.”

“More like you will be the one fragging my processors out,” Magnus said as he hooked a leg around the smaller mech’s frame, drawing him and his digits closer and deeper. “You’ve always been more fond of waking me up like this.”

“But you don’t protest,” Wheeljack laughed, pumping his digits in and out of Ultra’s valve. “You love it.”

The bigger mech leveled a glare at him, and did something with his calipers that made Wheeljack choke. Swirling his thumb over Ultra’s anterior node, he removed his digits and lining his leaking, stiff spike up with his commander’s wet folds, rubbing the tip just a bit over them.

Ultra was clearly struggling not to beg, but Wheeljack swore that he would break the Magnus of that. His thumb swiped up the opening of Ultra’s folds before circling around and over the anterior node, going slow at first to savor the other mech’s attempts to quiet himself, before he picked up the pace.

“Please,” Ultra said, lapsing back into a needy mess.

No more words were needed. Wheeljack moved his servo to hold onto one of Ultra’s thighs and grunted as he thrust against Magnus’s wet heat, closing his optics and savoring the sensation of warm and slick walls constricting around his spike. The calipers fluttered around him, and oh that was divine, the way Ultra could make him lose whatever semblance of control he remained. The look on the commander’s faceplates was one of bliss, as if he’d been waiting eons for this to happen when in reality they’d gone at it just a few cycles prior. No matter - Wheeljack loved making his partner feel like this.

After the many eons they’d spent constantly at each other’s vocalizers, and then apart all the while believing that the other hated them, it was really the least that Wheeljack could do for Ultra in a universe gone mad.

Hoisting Ultra’s other leg into his other arm, Wheeljack pressed them forward so the fronts of Ultra’s thighs were almost pressing against his chassis and thrust forward, almost choking at the change of angle. Ultra’s optics flared brightly, and he gasped, moaning for more, pleading as if his life depended on it.

“Touch yourself,” Wheeljack rasped out, smirking as his commanding officer obeyed and one of those slender hands delved between their bodies. “Want to,” he thrust in and moaned, “hear you overload.”

He could see the motions of Ultra’s servo as he rubbed his digits over his glowing node, his audio receptors picked up the sound of lubricant squelching and clinging to silver, slender digits. Wheeljack surged forward, further pressing Ultra’s legs to his chassis, and claimed his lipplates as he drove fast and hard, panting, glossa tangling with his partner’s.

Ultra’s frame seized and his back arched, crying out his overload as little electric shocks rattled his frame. Somehow simultaneously, he could be tense and relaxed, and Wheeljack wondered for a moment how that could be until he was swept up in his own overload, gasping as he felt his spike throb and spurt transfluid into the wet valve that caressed his length.

After a few moments, he let Ultra’s legs free of his grip and collapsed onto the larger mech’s chassis, the sound of their vents laboring to expend heat build-up the only sound in the room for a brief moment. Wheeljack buried his faceplates into Ultra’s neck cables and sighed in contentment. “We’ve got another cycle before we head out on patrol,” the white-armored mech murmured into the larger, blue mech’s audio receptors. “Figure we should probably clean up.”

“Tempting as it is,” Ultra Magnus said lowly, closing his optics and turning his helm to face the ceiling, “I’d prefer to recharge some more.”

Wheeljack was stunned into silence, not able to reconcile the mess on their frames and Ultra’s preference for sleep, but he decided not to question it. Setting an alarm to at least give them a klik to make themselves look decent before heading on patrol, Wheeljack snuggled into the larger mech’s side and dropped off into recharge, dreaming of a future on Cybertron.


End file.
